


BATIM Short Stories

by Blaze22



Series: BATIM Shorts [1]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Gen, Some angst, There's a crap post in there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-11-28 03:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18202814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaze22/pseuds/Blaze22
Summary: A collection of my old and new short stories for the Bendy universe that I don't consider high enough quality for separate posts. Summaries of each will be included with each chapter, with the plots ranging from a writing based from an audio log to an OC drabble.





	1. "Hey, he writes the checks."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look behind the first audio log we hear from Wally in the game.
> 
> Date written: July 8th, 2018
> 
> Edits have been made since first written.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first fic for the Bendy fandom! Kind of cool to look back to where I started and where I am now, and I hope that I keep improving.

"Listen up!"

The exclamation was followed by two quick claps, coming from the entrance of the break room. There was a silhouetted shape of a man, with his shoulders squared. 

The murmurs and chatter coming from the others quickly died down until there was nothing but silence. Unless the ever present squeaks and rumbles droning from the countless ink pipes in the labyrinth of halls counted as noise. 

A tall man dressed in suspenders was leaning back in a chair, a cigarette tilted between his first two fingers. His brooding, blue gaze wandered to the shadow, appearing uninterested. 

A slim female, with blond hair and ruby red lipstick, stood alert, hands clasped in front of her. 

A heavyweight, tan skinned male leaned against the wall on one shoulder, brown eyes glowing in the shadows. 

Mr. Lawrence, Ms. Campbell, Mr. Polk, and many more. Wally Franks observed the packed break room with a sweep of his eyes, then glanced back to the entrance. The shadow stepped into the light. It was none other than Joey Drew himself. 

"I gathered you all here because you each have a new job."

Immediately mutters broke out.

"My frames are already two days late - more work?"

"We all can't work overtime here, you know. I've got a family back home."

"That damned ink machine probably needs more cleanin' up."

The latter was muttered by Wally himself, who had to suppress an eye roll.

Without waiting to listen to the complaints, Joey pressed on. 

"Each of you must take something from your work station. By the end of the day today, I expect your donations to be placed within this room."

Joey pointed with a finger to each of the newly installed pedestals in turn, six in total. Earlier that week, Wally had placed them there himself. "Place your object on top of the pedestal according to your sort of work." 

He inhaled in order to dismiss his employees, but a voice dryly cut through the thick and smoky atmosphere.

"I'm sure you'd like to explain /why/ we're taking the time to go through with this nonsense," Sammy Lawrence said, taking a puff of the cigarette.

"Right, right. The objective of this -" Joey began to eye each and every one of the workers carefully, opposite from his distracted air that he had held moments earlier. "Is to appease the gods. It will keep things . . . going."

The man had gone crazy. What gods of the cartoon world were there anyhow? Besides money, perhaps. It was bad enough that the animations were far behind schedule, and every minute of Wally's work seemed to be spent mopping up ink. Next thing they would know, they all would be sent to attend a Satanic church. 

Right then, the breakroom was abuzz. Every one had turned to a neighbor and was voicing an opinion. Wally began to turn his head to complain to Thomas, his gruff coworker, before Joey cut them all off. 

"That's enough! All of you - back to work. I want to see the items at five pm sharp, right here." 

With a few more grumbles, the employees of Joey Drew Studios began to file out of the room. A few wistfully cast glances at the coffee machine, but pressed on. 

─━━━━━━⊱✿⊰━━━━━━─

Wally grunted as he twisted the bolt with all of his might. The wrench's grip on the bolt slipped off. Wally simply let the tool fall to the ground with a clatter. He leaned his head back to groan loudly. 

He and Thomas Connor were on their knees in a hall of the studio, sleeves pushed past their elbows. Both had black ink splattered along their forearms, their calloused fingers coated with the sticky substance. 

"Stop acting like a child, and hand me that wrench," Thomas waved his hand torwards Wally, who picked up the tool he had dropped and placed it in the other man's hand. Thomas was older than Wally, perhaps in his forties; but that never stopped him from getting the job done. 

"I'm tellin' ya Tom - if we have to fix another burst pipe, I'm outta here!" Wally shook his fist at the piece of metal and the pool of ink surrounding it.

"So you've said Wally, so you've said," Thomas replied absentmindedly, nodding in satisfaction as he sealed a bolt with a clink. 

Sighing, Wally took the wrench back, and began working furiously at the small bit of metal. One more inch, and they could go home. After a moment, it turned, and the two were hoisting the pipe up to seal it back to the intricate system of pipes that resided just below the ceiling. 

Wally dusted his hands off, his light brown eyes wandering down the hallway. "Ya suppose we can check out now?" he hopefully inquired, but Thomas shook his head. "You know what Joey said . . . better stop by the break room first."

"Right." Wally scanned his surroundings, then waved the wrench he held in his ink-blotted hands. "I'll drop this old thing off. See ya tomorrow, Tom!" He saluted his partner, then took off down the hall, a bounce in his step as per usual.

The hallways of the top floor seemed rather empty - most workers had probably gone home by now. Wally stopped in his tracks as he stood in the doorway of the break room.

The pedestals were covered -- absolutely covered -- with objects. A microphone, a disc, a pen, an inkwell. The list went on and on. Shaking his head to snap out of his daze, Wally picked his way carefully over to the pedestal with a picture of a wrench behind it. 

"Hell to this breakroom. It's like a storage room now." Almost reverently, the man set the blackened tool to lean against the wooden stand, then backed up. His spine straightened - it felt as if a pair of eyes were staring straight behind him. He whipped around, jostling an inkwell near his feet in the process.

"Who's there?" Wally narrowed his eyes; all he saw was a Bendy plushie on top of a pedestal, to his left. Staring directly torwards him. Shivering, he picked his way back into the hall, relaxing as he exited the room, and also escaping the eyes of the cartoon doll.

"This studio has my nerves so highstrung - I'm scared of a doll," he scoffed, shaking his head as he grinned at the thought. He began to quickly walk torwards the exit, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Wally's shoes made muffled thumps against the wooden planks. He passed the slow-turning gears that had "Joey Drew Studios" written across it, not sparing the usual scene a glance. 

An insane employer, a staring plushie, ink everywhere. If that was the price that he had to pay for a check, then so be it. But one more fright - and he was out of there.


	2. "You look familiar to me . . ."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An AU prompt of a scene within the game events, where Sammy recognizes Henry instead of ignoring the familiarity. (Also adds the au twist that Henry was a Creator)
> 
> Date written: September 23rd, 2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This honestly has to be one of the least favorite turn outs of something I've written. Keep in mind this was written before chapter 5's release. ^^

"There we go now. Nice and tight. We wouldn't want our sheep running away now, would we?" 

Henry's heavy eyelids fluttered open, shut, then opened again. The first thing that he noticed was that his arms were bound behind his back in rope against a pole, the wood digging into his spine. Secondly, a gag was stuffed into his mouth, uncomfortably preventing any noise escaping from his vocal chords. A dull, throbbing pain resounded through his body, the source a bump on the back of his head. 

The black figure in front of him came into focus after a moment. 

Sammy Lawrence. 

That deep voice was unmistakable. It bewildered Henry to see his old coworker in such an odd state - ink forming his body, a cut out of Bendy acting as a mask, and only a pair of white, stained overalls for clothing - which revealed a toned body. It was quite different from the long, brown haired and piercing blue eyed man he had once known. 

Henry's eyes flickered to the axe Sammy was holding as he drummed his fingers against the handle of it.

"No, we wouldn't."

"I must admit I am honored you came all the way down here to visit me. It almost makes what I am about to do seem . . . cruel."

His eyes widened, watching as Sammy turned and walked several steps to set the weapon down. A small, false sense of security swept over him as he watched the axe leave his kidnapper's hands.

"But the believers must honor their savior. I must have him notice me." 

"Wait. You look familiar to me . . . that face . . ."

The inky human leaned forward, raising his hand up as he contemplated the man in front of him. Henry nodded at the comment, silently urging Sammy's memory on. 

"Hen - Henry."

Leaning even closer, the man tugged the gag from Henry's mouth. He gratefully drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with sweet air. Then he began to speak calmly.

"Sammy. Yes, it's me - Henry. We worked together, thirty years ago. I was the one who created Bendy with-"

"Henry!" The explanation was cut short by a mixture of a shout and a yelp. Sammy recoiled back as if he had been slapped. 

Sammy took a step back, pointing a trembling, black appendage at the tied up man. "Y-you. You are . . . are . . . a Creator." Fear laced his accusatory tone. All recognition had been thrown to the side once he had mentally connected the dots to what he viewed as Henry's past.

Henry opened his mouth to continue, but he was cut off again. 

"Silence. You lied, Henry. You lied to all of us. Now no time must be wasted. I would kill you myself, but my Lord will take great delight in this sacrifice. Perhaps . . . this will set us free." 

Chills wracked Henry's body at the ominous, accusing, and false words. He gritted his teeth as he watched Sammy turn and jog out of the room, clearly in great haste. With a grunt, the man jerked against his bindings, but found no avail in the attempt to escape.

Then, with a faint squeal of feedback, the deep voice rumbled through the speakers.

"Sheep, sheep, sheep. It's time for sleep . . ."

_And so all continued as before._


	3. With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble from the eyes of an OC of mine, named William Scott. William makes an appearance in chapter three of Dissipate, and this gives context for his actions. 
> 
> Date written: February 22, 2019

I never saw it coming. I ridicule and curse myself for not catching on, as I'm sure others do -- or did -- behind my back, mocking my naiveness. 

At first, I was simply a young man desperate for a paycheck. My reason? Mother had recently fallen ill with tuberculosis, and she was in great need of medical support. This steady job at the studio, which consisted of managing and distributing Mr. Drew's inspirational audio tapes, seemed to be a dream come true, although the income was small.

Then my future seemed to shine a little bit brighter. Mr. Drew had taken an interest in me, and offered me extra cash in return for a couple of small favors. I gratefully accepted, ecstatic for the extra boost that I could give the hospital for Mother's medications.

Then the favors grew.

And grew.

_And grew._

I found myself traipsing all across the studio, sweat on my brow, and innocent determination in my step. Joey soon confided to me that he was aware of my family's situation, and oozed sympathy, saying that this was to help _me_. I believed each and every syrupy word, clinging to the promise that this man wanted to help me in this cruel world.

And that's how I ended up backed into a corner. Surrounded, like I had no oxygen left in my lungs, and the only way to breathe again was to do as Joey commanded.

_"Knock her out and bring her back to this area."_

And so I did.

I swear, I did it for Mother. I didn't know what had happened to that Southern woman, only that she and two others didn't come to work the next day. 

But, weeks later, I do now as I stare at my trembling hands. My bloodstained hands. Guilt crashes like an tidal wave over me, threatening to drown me. So strong, like it will crush my bones and trample them to dust. 

I fall to my knees beside the casket that _I_ placed the body into, a sob ripping past my throat. I bury my face in my hands, staining my features with the scarlet liquid too. 

What have I _done_?

It was all for _her_ , a God-loving woman who brought the best out in me and those around her. I had taken someone's life to keep hers on this earth for a little longer. A soul for a soul.

What I didn't know was how many souls I would willingly trap in the future just to keep hers . . .

with me.


	4. Press On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry finds himself at the very beginning of another loop(with no recollection of the previous events), inside of Joey's house. This time, however, Joey's physical state has taken a sharp decline. 
> 
> Date written: current time  
> (Anything preceding this will have been written the day it was posted as well)

There were so, so many colors. 

First a blinding white. 

Then a signature black.

Now, as he opened his eyes, Henry saw thick, soupy red. And pear green. 

Disoriented, he combed his calloused fingers through his shock of peppered hair. Then he realized what the colors were. 

Walls. Floors. 

Joey’s house. 

Right, that was why he was there. His old friend had sent him a letter, and Henry had come to visit. 

Shaking of the lingering dizziness, the man strode across the living room. It felt like he was in a dream, walking amongst the mist of clouds high above in the realm of sleep. Each step aimed towards a billboard hanging on the wall caused a soft ‘thump’ to sound. Before Henry could quench his curiosity of what it contained, he heard the gut-churning sound of semi-liquid pouring, heaving from a mouth.

He walked to where it originated from, thick brows furrowed. He halted in the kitchen doorway. 

Joey. 

The older man was sprawled in his wheelchair, head hanging above a trash bin and blue bathrobe pooling in his lap. His face lifted up.

Henry’s amber eyes stretched wide. Gone was the tall, strong man he had befriended so many years ago; everything about him screamed weak. The bile running down his chin. Heavy bags drooping beneath his tired eyes. The trembling of his right hand as his wrinkled fingers curled together, then uncurled.

Without realizing he had moved, he was by his side. 

“Joey! Joey, look at me. Are you all right?” Henry clenched his hands into fists, leaving crescent-shaped marks indented on his palms. Of course he was not all right. A sheen of sweat covered Joey’s forehead, and his chest rose and fell rapidly.

He continued on. “I’ll call the ambulan-”

“No,” Joey interrupted. He lifted his head up, milky eyes boring into Henry. “It’s too late. ”

By the looks of it, he had been there for some time. Henry bounced on the balls of his feet. There was no way that he was going to just _stand_ there and watch his old friend’s life slip away. No matter that they had left on a rough note.

Joey maintained eye contact. “Henry. You need to visit the workshop.” Between each phrase was a quick, desperate breath.

Henry nodded, silent. 

“The storyboard controls it. Go free them. You’re their savior,” he said. 

Henry frowned. Whatever those cryptic words meant, he did not understand them. 

“I’ve played God for the final time.” With a shaky exhale, Joey’s gaze focused on something far away. Perhaps whatever it was was within another galaxy.

Henry reached down and held his clammy left hand between his, but Joey’s fingers were limp - he assumed they were numb. It must have been a heart attack. If only he had awakened sooner. Still attempting to sort out the meaning of Joey’s words, his lips parted. “Just stay with me, I know you can. You’ve been through so much, and you’re quitting _now_?” 

Joey did not hear him. His eyes widened, pupils constricting. In raw fear? Ecstasy?

“I see him, that smile . . .” His final words rolled off of his lips breathily. Joey’s chin dropped down. A ghost of a smile dusted his mouth, glassy blue eyes staring at nothing.

Henry cried out. He dropped the skeletal hand his fingers held. The scent of bile rose to his nostrils. His own surfaced, stomach heaving as it emptied its contents. Grief’s claws wrapped their way over his heart, squeezing and mangling the tender flesh. Tears streaked down his weathered cheeks.

He looked back at his former work partner and clutched the edge of the countertop. He cast a glance at the door that would lead him to the studio Joey had requested that he visit.

There was only one thing to do. 

Press on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of tried out a different style here, though it's not too obvious. But I'm proud of how it turned out, even with it being a little messy!
> 
> I'm also leaving this open ended in case I ever decide to jump on the bandwagon here and write an au where Henry sets everyone free.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Nice To Yeet You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: 100% cringyness ahead, proceed at your own risk
> 
> Long story short: a memified fic of Allison's first day at the studio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I've never seen a crap post posted here.   
> But this chapter is 100% a crap post. If you don't want to read, click off now, thanks.
> 
> Um, I swear I have an (long)explanation.  
> So basically I have a terrible sense of humor, and I like to entertain myself - so I purposefully mistype words when I'm writing to make myself smile when I go back to it. Prime example, I wrote "I'd like you to yeet Mr. Lawrence." in a story that's not posted yet. I showed one of my friends, and after we laughed about it, they encouraged me to write a crap post surrounding this. And here we are. :D enjoy!

Allison nodded, smiling faintly as Joey pointed into a room and continued walking. It was only her first day at the studio and it already appeared to be a pleasant place. She had yet to meet any of the other workers, aside from Wally Franks, and Joey, who was currently showing her around the music department.

The young woman startled out of her daydreaming when Joey stopped walking and turned to her. 

"I'd like you to yeet Sammy Lawrence, the music department director," he said.

Allison's brows furrowed, her lips slightly parting as she tilted her head to the side. "Did you say 'yeet'?" she asked, confusion lacing her soft-spoken words.

When there was no response, she turned her head to look behind her where Joey was gazing. Wally stood further down the hall, a devilish, wide grin splitting his face before he sprinted away. 

Not a moment later -- Allison still stood, dumbfounded, in the middle of the hallway -- a man, kicking and yelling and who she could only assume was Sammy, appeared along with Wally. 

"God damn it, Wally, put me down! The hell is wrong with you?"

Wally, ignoring Sammy, who was beet red in the face, simply said,

"YEET!"

Allison's chocolate brown eyes widened in slight horror, stepping to hug the side of the hallway in hopes that she wouldn’t be caught in the fray of this eccentric dream. Joey spoke up again. 

"Wally, the can of soup needs to be yeeted as well."

Allison relaxed ever so slightly. Still an odd choice of words, but she had seen the numerous cans of soup lying around the studio - finally one bit of this dialogue was making sense. 

A confused expression clouded Wally's face. " _The_ can of soup?" he asked. 

Joey raised an eyebrow. "Yes, _the_ can of soup."

A knowing glint entered his light brown gaze, and Wally dashed off. He came back with a blonde woman. 

"Sorry Susie, boss' orders!"

So _that_ was Susie Campbell? Joey had mentioned the talented voice actress to Allison earlier. 

"Wally Franks, if you don't put me down this second, I swear to God, I'll-"

"YEET!"

Allison jumped when she felt a hand rest on her shoulder. She quickly looked to see who it was. It was a man with dark brown hair, a short, scruffy beard, and lines etched into his stern face(due to age or stress, she couldn't tell). Voice scratchy, he said, "Joey, cut it out. You're scaring the lady."

She opened her mouth, then closed it, realizing that she resembled a gaping fish once she couldn't find the words to articulate her scrambled thoughts. 

Joey rolled his eyes and began to speak. The man cut him short by firmly guiding Allison away, his hand still gently resting on her shoulder. He took it off once they were out of earshot. 

"Sorry about that back there," her rescuer said. "Joey is . . . a bit loose in the screws, to put it lightly. I'm Thomas." 

They stopped walking and Allison exhaled slowly, blinking several times. "That's all right, I think. It's nice to yeet -- I mean meet, sorry! -- you, Thomas. I'm Allison Pendle." She pressed her lips together, cheeks lightly dusted pink at her slip up.

Thomas nodded curtly and crossed his arms. "Here, I'll show you to the breakroom. Maybe someone could finish showing you around there." She nodded and they began to walk once again. 

Allison broke the silence by asking, "Thomas . . . what does 'yeet' mean?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High key pretty sure I've reached the peak of my writing with this one👌
> 
> Just to be safe if it wasn't already obvious, nonnne of this falls underneath my headcanons, it's simply a joke, lol.
> 
> But can we make this the canon way of Allison and Thomas meeting(or should I say yeeting), pls and thanks.


	6. Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry remembers everything - every single loop. It's enough to make a person fall apart, but he decides to strengthen his resolve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This didn't take too much time and was inspired by the song "joy." by for King and Country.

Henry stared down at his calloused, grimy, tear-stained hands that rested in his lap. He sat on top of a couch just outside of where the accursed amusement park was located. Beside him rested a phonograph. A soft, gentle tune drifted from it.

One might ask - why the tears? 

He remembered. 

Henry remembered every loop. Dozens, hundreds of them? He couldn’t recall, but the memories were painful enough to make the man stop multiple times throughout his venture through the studio and sob. 

He yearned for his family. He wanted, needed to hold his sweet Linda in his arms and to kiss his daughter’s cheek - just one more time. 

He ran a hand over his face and leaned back against the couch cushion. 

_Enough._

He had cried enough tears. He had wallowed in self-pity, his loathing for Joey, and his burning anger for this damned studio for the last time. 

Yes, he would have to kill Boris, his first friend and ally in this hellish adventure, to survive. He would have to play as Joey’s puppet, then repeat the process for who knew how much longer. He would have to bear the grief of possibly never seeing his family again. 

But that didn’t mean he had to lose hope. 

He could choose joy. 

Joy that he was alive. 

_Although it was more of a half-life, dying gruesomely in the hands of monsters and reawakening yet again._

Be grateful that oxygen filled his lungs. 

_Even though it smelled like ink._

And appreciate the fact that there was a speck of light at the end of the tunnel, one that he and Joey apparently both strived for. The belief that there _was_ a way to set them free. If belief had gotten this mess started, surely it could end it. 

All he could do was walk through the cycles, in control of _nothing_ except his mindset. 

Henry firmly nodded, his eyes slipping shut. 

_This time, I choose joy._


End file.
